Adept
by daniel duncan
Summary: how can you stop a centuries old assassin that can be whoever he wants to be...
1. Prologue

**Hello readers. I'm going to establish a few things real quick before we get to the story. **

**1. I will be handling all of daniel duncan's author's notes and PMs. He has a very demanding job, so I will post the chapters he writes for him.**

**2. Chapter updates will be sporadic, but will definitely have more content to them than this prologue. After all, it is a prologue. Just to get your interest up.**

**3. All reviews are cherished. Seriously, if you review we love you. **

**Without further ado... have a peek at what's in store! **

PROLOGUE

(IN THE TIME BEFORE SURAK)

Gath squatted on the stone outcropping, motionless but for the hot breeze that stirred his cloak. Small bits of sand crawled across his face and neck, like the skittering legs of an insect. Another would have brushed the sand away, unable to bear its incessant crawling across their skin; but Gath was not another. He ignored the sand and the wind, which seemed to be picking up, the breeze growing stronger, carrying the stench of the nearby battlefield into his sensitive nostrils. Gath ignored that as well. Instead, he focused on the compound below, his obsidian eyes flicking here and there, steadily surveying the small cluster of buildings that surrounded the great hall. Between him and his target was a great stone wall, battlements designed to keep out armies, to defend against many thousands of soldiers and the machinery of war. Gath was but one. Sleepy sentries patrolled up and down the walls, peering into the blowing sand in search of a threat, hands gripping sword hilts, bows at the ready.

Gath focused on the sentry nearest him, a grizzled warrior from the look of his battle-scarred armor. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. _My mind to your mind….my thoughts to your thoughts…_ His brow furrowed as he concentrated, reaching across the meters of distance that separated him from the guard, casting his psyche like a warm blanket, a comfortable bed. Images of rest and peace flowed from him toward the unwary sentry. Few of his people were capable of melding at this distance, and Gath was one of them. The Elite Adepts. Those whose psychic ability far surpassed that of normal Vulcans. Gath, like the others, had been born with this gift, but unlike the others, he had honed his ability to a razor sharp edge, and now, not only could he meld from a distance, he could also kill. _Rest…sleep…no danger tonight…too much sand..I am so tired….a few moments will not matter…._he redoubled his efforts, a slight sweat now breaking out on his brow. Below him, the sentry yawned and shook his head. He moved to the battlement and peered out into the night, then to his right and left. Apparently satisfied that there was indeed no danger, he moved to the back of the wall and sat down, resting his back against the battlement and stretching his legs out in front of him. His eyes drifted shut…Above him, the ledge was empty.

General Voltag sank slowly into the pool of steaming mineral water, allowing his aged body to grow accustomed to the intense heat of the spring water. These springs were part of the reason he had chosen Gol as his headquarters, not to mention the mountains were nearly impregnable. He hissed through his teeth as the water crept up his thighs and past his waist, finally settling himself on the stone bench at the bottom of the pool. His muscles throbbed dully, reminding him of his age._ I am getting old. _He thought. _Perhaps it is time to leave the fighting to younger men._ He stretched his legs out slowly, feeling his muscles protest. His calves and thighs reluctant to release the tension in their muscles. Today had gone well, better than he or his advisors had hoped. His forces had engaged the armies of the Clan of the Black Sand in the valley below the mountains of Gol and the fighting had been fierce, with many lives lost. In the end though, his forces had triumphed. Lord Verg had surrendered, swearing fealty to him and peace had come. _Here at least._ He thought, _but what of the rest of Vulcan? When will this end? When the sands run green with the blood of every last man, woman and child? _ He shook his head and reached for the small cup of _ha'aava _ on the table near his right arm. He drank slowly, letting the fiery liquid blaze its way to his stomach, ignoring the burn of the multiple ulcers he knew must be nesting there. He sipped once more and set the cup back down on the table, shifting his weight on the bench, trying to find a more comfortable position. He let his gaze drift across the placid surface of the pool to the small fire pit on the far side of the bath chamber, allowing the dance of the flames lull him even more. _So much conflict,_ he thought,_ so much death._ His whole life had been one conflict after another. The tests of manhood, the _pon far_ when the blood boils and reason abandons. The violent disagreements with his father over Voltag's so-called "peaceful notions". "_Vulcans are born for battle!" _Varek would rage. "_Peace is the tool of cowards and fools!" _ On and on. Struggles without end. The clan wars..his own son's death in battle, and the resentment and even hatred in his wife's eyes as he had brought the news to her, along with his son's broken and bloody body. Tears welled in his eyes and he knuckled them away, not ashamed, but angry at the course his life had taken. He stared hard into the flames. _Perhaps death will find me soon. If not in battle, then in sickness or despair._

Gath watched from the shadows of the corner near the door of the bath chamber. It had not been much of a challenge to shield his presence from the occupants of the great hall once he had cleared the wall. For him, his ability was a source of great pride, and he exercised it often, training tirelessly, until he doubted if there was anyone as skilled as he was on all of Vulcan. If there was, Gath looked forward to meeting him one day, and killing him. He slowly reached into the voluminous sleeve of his cloak and removed a slender tube about the length of his forefinger He placed the tube between his lips and blew sharply, sending the hair-like fiber within streaking across the room, where it buried almost half its length in the generals scalp. Voltag flinched and then became still, his head lolling back onto the flagstones as if he slept. Gath remained where he was for a moment, and then walked swiftly and silently over to the general's body. The old man's eyes were still open, and he knelt, using his fingers to gently close them. "Peace, general." He whispered. Quietly and carefully he made his way out of the great hall and through the small group of buildings that surrounded it, using his mind to blend with shadows and sand. He really needn't have bothered, the wind was howling now and there was no seeing more than a meter in front of you. _There's your accident,_ he thought. _Now you owe me my fee…._


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Here's chapter one. Reviews are always appreciated! **

CHAPTER ONE

James Kirk stared out the window of his apartment at San Francisco Bay. The fog was beginning to rise, shrouding the bay area with a ghostly white mantle. Small commuter shuttles buzzed here and there, like so many angry bees. To his left, the sleek edifice of Starfleet Command thrust itself up from the green lawns of the campus, the edges of the buildings shining like gold in the early morning sunlight. _Not often I get to see this. _He thought. _The Enterprise doesn't get home very often._ His brow furrowed as he considered the implications of pulling a ship of the line from active duty and ordering her home. The cryptic message from Admiral Komack, the unusually tight security that had greeted him at space dock, as he debarked, the _entourage _ of security personnel that had accompanied him from the landing pad to the very door of his apartment. All had been tight lipped, barely a word spoken, and all of them had been armed. Heavily. Full riot gear and phaser rifles. Only the data disk given to him by the security officer, and the admonition to stay close. None of his staff or even Spock or McCoy had been allowed to accompany him. Upon reaching his home, he had inserted the disk in the reader and sat down at the small work station near the large windows , wondering what in blazes was going on. Komack's image had appeared on the screen, and if anything, Kirk noted, he looked more harried than ever. _"Jim, I know that these past few days, and especially the past few hours have been a little on the unorthodox side, but please trust me it is for your own good. I need you to remain at home for now, no communications, no side trips and absolutely no hijinks. I will send for you as soon as I work out a few details." _ Kirk paused the image and looked intently at his commanding admiral. Something sure had him spooked. _The Romulans? Or maybe some situation with the Klingons? _He wondered to himself. _And what's with the "send for me" remark? _On a hunch he called out to the house computer. "Computer, scan area immediately in front of the front entrance. Are there any humanoid life forms present?"

"_Affirmative. Two life forms detected." _The computer responded. Sighing, Kirk rose from the desk and walked to the entryway, activating the peephole with the switch on the panel to the left of the door. Sure enough. Two Starfleet security officers flanked the door. He sighed and keyed the com panel. "Excuse me gentlemen," he said, " but would either of you like to explain to me just what the hell is going on?" He waited, watching them through the peephole. No response, not even a glance behind them. He sighed and turned back to the panorama of the bay outside the windows. _Just what the hell was going on?_ A sudden thought struck him and he crept back to the door as if he were sneaking up on the security men outside. Struck by the absurdity of his behavior he forced himself to stand straight and approach the door once more. He activated the viewer again and studied the arm band on the officer to his right. A slight shiver ran down his spine and he pushed it away. _What exactly is Starfleet Special Forces doing outside my door?_ And then an even more serious thought occurred to him. He passed his hand over the plate next to the peephole button. Nothing. The door did not open. "Open," he said, using his command voice. The door didn't respond. _I'm locked in._

Swiftly he moved to the bedroom, finding the small overnight bag he had brought with him from the _Enterprise_ still lying on the bed. Quickly and quietly he released the seal and fished around inside it for the communicator he always brought with him even on Earth. Finding it, he flipped it open, clearing his throat to conceal its cricket like chirp. He dialed the correct frequency and spoke into it in a low voice, "Kirk to _Enterprise…" _he waited a moment and then tried again. Nothing, only the hiss of subspace communication frequencies, and then a stilted voice Kirk didn't recognize came through loud and clear, "Captain Kirk, I must respectfully request that you cease to attempt to communicate with your ship. These are admiral Komack's orders sir." In the other room he heard his front door slide open and the sound of booted feet crossing the foyer, moving toward the bedroom. _Busted. _Dropping the communicator back into the bag he turned and sat down on the edge of the bed, more confused than ever.

Spock opened his eyes and let out the breath he had been holding for the past few minutes, expelling the poisons and impurities from his lungs and body. He sat on the large slab of Vulcan granite that took up a fair amount of space in the aft area of his quarters, having spent enough time meditating for one day. He felt rested and refreshed, ready once more for duty, but his mind still grappled with the disturbing events of the past few days. _Enterprise _had been monitoring an ion storm tearing its way through the Rigel system, when she had received a priority one burst from Starfleet communications. Return to earth at best possible speed. No relief, no explanations. Jim had no choice but to order a halt to scientific studies and a high warp return to the Sol system. Although he had sent several queries via secure channels, there had been no response from Starfleet Command. No response that is until the _Enterprise _ had made space dock. Then, while still on final approach,_ Enterprise _ had been ordered to come to a complete stop and keep station until a small shuttle had been dispatched to retrieve the captain (and only the captain), and ferry him to the Earth's surface. Sealed orders had been dispatched via courier to Spock, who was to assume temporary command while the _Enterprise_ lay in space dock. Shore leave was approved and they were to await further orders from admiral Komack. Absolutely no attempt should be made to contact captain Kirk under penalty of law. Spock's brow furrowed and he stood up, shedding the _kolinahr_ robes and slipping into his uniform. This entire situation was indeed most troubling, but orders were orders. He resolved to give the matter his full attention, and as Dr. McCoy would have said, decided to do a little snoopin' around. His first stop would be the captain's quarters.

Leonard McCoy was not pleased. He sat in his office in sickbay, brooding and plotting, a bottle of bourbon and a shot glass on the desk in front of him, and thunderclouds on his brow. _Damnable beaurocrats dragging Jim off like some common criminal, leaving the rest of us in the dark without so much as a 'howdo ya do'. _ He reached for the bottle again and was pouring another stiff shot when a polite cough sounded from the doorway. "Dammit Christine I already told you…." He trailed off when his eyes focused on Spock standing in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back in that maddening way of his, one eyebrow slightly elevated as he regarded the ship's chief medical officer on the verge of a bender. " Whaddaya' want Spock?" he slurred, his southern accent thickening in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol he had consumed, which in Spock's summation, must have been quite a bit.

" Might I come in Doctor?" Spock said, choosing not to engage in their customary vocal sparring.

McCoy grunted and waved his hand in a 'come on in' gesture and Spock made his way to the chair in front of the doctor's desk. "I s'pose you're here to lecture me on the dangers of drunkenness too?" He drawled, pouring the shot Spock had so rudely interrupted. Spock said nothing, merely regarding the doctor with the same frank look he would have used on a small unruly child. He had known McCoy long enough to know that the doctor's own conscience would convict him eventually and he would put the bourbon away. McCoy regarded him through bleary eyes for a moment and cursed under his breath. He opened a drawer and slammed the bottle and shot glass inside before slamming it shut. He passed a hand over his eyes and straightened up in his chair, gathering his senses. "Well, Mr. Spock, what can I do for you?" Taking this as the cue he was looking for, Spock sat back in his chair and steepled his long fingers in front of him, regarding McCoy over the tops of his tented hands. "I am sure that you will agree with me doctor, when I say that the events of the last few days have been and remain most puzzling." He paused, as if waiting for a response from the doctor. When none was forthcoming, he continued, his mind working at the problem before them with the voracity of an angry _le matya_, " We seem to have found ourselves in a situation where legal avenues and protocol are of no use." He paused again, gauging McCoy's level of drunkenness before continuing. " I have spent the better part of today on the bridge, attempting to ascertain captain Kirk's status, to no avail. Starfleet operations refuses to divulge anything concerning his whereabouts. Instead, we are ordered to remain in space dock until such time as we are ordered to leave."

McCoy leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, cradling his chin in his hands. "I'm worried about Jim too Spock. Damned irregular the way they been treating him. What about the jag office? Have you contacted them?"

Spock nodded, he had, in fact, exhausted every contact he had in Operations to no avail. "I have indeed doctor. No one I contacted had any information regarding the captain at all." He stood up and moved away from the desk, to the doorway before turning around and facing the doctor again. " I have even…inspected the captain's quarters in the attempt to gain insight into the situation." He said, somewhat uncomfortably. _He _is_ worried about Jim. _ McCoy thought. _Hell, you are too Bones, admit it. You are too._ McCoy sighed and stood up slowly, grasping the edge of his desk to maintain his balance. "Hang on a minute Spock, let me go get sober and I'll be right with you." He knew Spock well enough to know that it cost the Vulcan a lot to come to him for help, but dammit this was Jim they were talking about. Of course he would help. Even though Spock hadn't really asked for it. He rifled around in a cabinet until he found the vial of _Renoxonol_ he was looking for. He loaded it into a hypo and injected himself in the neck. The effects were immediate. The whiskey haze receded and his vision cleared. He sighed, _so much for drinking my troubles away. _"C'mon Spock," he called as he headed for the door leading out of sickbay, " let's see what we can do".

On the bridge, Uhura sat at her communications console, her left hand pressed to the earpiece, brow furrowed in intense concentration. Next to her Pavel Checkov, pressed into communication service by Uhura, had adopted a similar pose. The amount of com traffic emanating from Starfleet command was staggering. She was attempting to glean any and all information concerning their current situation from the seemingly endless messages, communiques, and various electronic mails that swirled through subspace. And was getting nowhere. Not to mention, she was pretty sure that what they were doing was highly illegal. She looked up as the turbo lift doors opened and Commander Spock exited the lift, followed closely by Dr. McCoy. Both men moved silently to the science station and stood with their heads close together, communicating in whispers. _Those two are up to something, _she thought and smiled inwardly, _and so are you Nyota._ She felt a small modicum of peace where only fear and uncertainty had been. If Spock and McCoy were on it, things were bound to turn out alright. She had been through too many close calls and seemingly no-win situations with them to think otherwise. Sighing, she pulled out the earpiece and massaged her ear lobe, made tender by hours of straining to hear even the slightest whisper about her captain. Next to her, Checkov started to do the same and froze when she shot him a bloody look. "Don't even think about it mister." She hissed and the young ensign swallowed hard. "You just keep doing what you are doing. I'll be right back." She stood up and stretched her aching back muscles, smoothed her uniform top and walked casually over to the science station, more than a little aware of the inquisitive glances from the junior bridge crew. Some of them had only been aboard ship for a few weeks, and had no idea of the depth of devotion shared by those who had faced death repeatedly and came out still alive but forever scarred. They simply knew something was up, and until this particular crisis was resolved, she wasn't about to enlighten them.

Spock and Doctor McCoy fell silent when she approached, and Spock quickly snapped off the small view screen mounted on the science station, but not before Uhura caught a glimpse of a cute, fiery haired young woman who seemed oddly familiar. "Gentlemen," she said quietly, "might I have a word with you?"

Kirk sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the reckoning to come. He had faced down Romulan and Klingon alike, lost men in battle, sustained serious injury and narrowly escaped death on more than one occasion, but none of those encounters and near misses had carried with it the sense of foreboding he felt now. _What is going on?_ He wondered yet again. The door hissed open and the two special operations officers stepped through, their movements fluid and well suited for assaulting an enemy stronghold. _But dammit, this is the home of a Starfleet Captain, a highly decorated Starfleet Captain_, his mind insisted on reminding him. _Not some off world war zone. _ He sat quietly, maintaining his last bit of dignity while the men secured the room, one returning to stand at the door, speaking inaudibly into his wrist com, and the other moving to stand silently in front of the seated captain. "Your communicator please sir." He said, emotionlessly. He extended his hand and Kirk gestured wordlessly at the overnight bag on the bed. The trooper nodded and snatched up the bag, rifling through it until he found the offending instrument, and pocketed it. " Sir, I must respectfully request that you do not try that again." He said simply, without any inflection whatsoever. But the threat was there, Kirk knew. Although it had been left unsaid, he knew the alternative, and he really didn't feel like waking up with a phaser induced hangover. He simply nodded and sat there, his mind racing. Next to the bed, as well as throughout the penthouse, the com unit began to beep with an incoming call. Kirk glanced at the soldier in front of him who moved swiftly to the com unit and answered it. He straightened suddenly and Kirk realized that he must be speaking to a superior. The man moved aside and nodded to him. On the screen, admiral Komak stared morosely into Kirk's bedroom. Jim stood slowly, in no hurry to move to the com screen. _Give him a taste of his own medicine. _ He positioned himself before the view screen and came to attention "Yes sir?" he said, eyebrows raised in a whimsical expression, "what can I do for you sir?" Komak scowled at him and barked, "cut the crap Jim, I realize you aren't happy with the current circumstances, and quite frankly neither am I. But you have to trust me and believe me when I say this is all for your own good." Komak actually glanced around himself and leaned forward, closer to the monitor. "We have reason to believe Jim, that you have been targeted for assassination."

"What did you say?"


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's note: To clarify, the events of this story occur shortly after the events in ****_Demons_****, some of you may recognize a character from that novel. Thanks for the reviews. **

Lieutenant Uhura, I fear that 'having a word with us' would not be advisable at this time" Spock said, his voice almost inaudible. "Currently, doctor McCoy and I are involved in activities that aren't exactly….legal." Uhura almost smiled at the stilted, dead serious tone of Spock's voice. She moved closer and whispered just as quietly, "You aren't the only one buster." McCoy smiled in spite of the heaviness he felt in his heart. Uhura had always had spunk and had never been afraid to show it. Spock's eyes lost some of their hooded look and for a moment the doctor thought he would actually smile. Instead he turned back to the science station and switched the viewer back on. Uhura had thought the young woman was familiar, even in the brief moment she had glimpsed the impish face. On the screen Dr. Anitra Lanter stared back at her. "Hello Nyota." She said and smiled. Uhura smiled back. It had been less than a year since Anitra had served on the _Enterprise, _and the circumstances surrounding her service had been less than desirable, and Nyota would certainly never forget them. The madness, the murders, the outright evil all of them had been subjected to was forever branded into her memory. She still awoke some nights, her body bathed in sweat, the sound of insect wings rustling in her ears. She shivered and pushed the memory away, concentrating instead on greeting Anitra. "Hello Doctor." Anitra smiled and then visibly shifted gears. "I take it you are in on our little conspiracy as well." It was not a question and Uhura simply nodded her head. On the screen, Anitra's face became impish once more, "well then, let's not waste any more time on the pleasantries, Len and Spock have asked me to pull some strings with Starfleet Command to see what is going on with captain Kirk. I have agreed. However, as I was telling them, they cannot expect any miracles. I left Starfleet some time ago to pursue my own interests, and I am not sure if I even _have _any connections anymore." She shifted her gaze to McCoy and Nyota couldn't help but notice how her eyes softened and took on a peculiar gleam. "Len, you're gonna owe me big time for this, you do know that right?" she chided. McCoy actually blushed and fingered his collar, "I'm sure you will collect my dear." He said and cleared his throat. Anitra let him squirm for a moment before turning back to Spock. " I will do my best Mr. Spock, but once again, no guarantees." Spock nodded, seemingly oblivious to the drama going on between the two doctors. "That is all that I ask Doctor Lanter." He said gravely and turned the viewer off.

"So what do we do now?" Uhura asked, tired of sitting around doing nothing. "We wait, Lieutenant, and let Doctor Lanter do her job."

"Assassination?" Kirk asked. "By whom?"

Komack sighed and passed a hand across his face, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "We're not exactly sure Jim, but we have reason to believe that the threat is viable. We recently received reliable intelligence that suggests you and a few others may be the targets of a group of assassins. That's why we had you jump through all those hoops. I apologize of course, but we felt it necessary to bring you home before whoever it is that wants you dead could get to you. We will be better able to protect you here until we get this sorted out."

Kirk frowned. "With all due respect admiral, why didn't you just tell me what was going on? It would have been much simpler."

"That may be Jim, but since we have no idea who it is that is trying to kill you, who they may be affiliated with and so on, this was the more prudent course of action." Komack smiled briefly, "I'm sorry we have been keeping you locked up in your own home but it was necessary. Now, however, if you will allow these two officers to escort you to Command, we can get down to the business of unraveling this mess." He reached out, about to break the connection, "Oh, Jim, one more thing, you may want to change out of your uniform. You will stick out like a sore thumb."

Kirk allowed himself to smile, glad to finally be out of the dark and able to have at least some say in what was done. "Of course sir. Be right there." He turned to the two soldiers standing in his bedroom, a whimsical expression on his face, "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I would like a bit of privacy." The troopers glanced at one another. _Hard to tell what they were thinking with those helmets on,_ he thought. After an inward debate, the officer nodded and they stalked out, no doubt defending the bedroom door as if they expected and impending assault by half a dozen Klingon warriors. He quickly slipped off his uniform and rummaged through his dresser drawers for clothes he hadn't worn in over a year. _Hope these still fit. _They did, although he felt a bit odd out of uniform, but if Komack felt it necessary, he may as well play along. Moments later he emerged from the bedroom, feeling a bit odd but dressed none the less. As he suspected, the troopers had taken up positions on either side of the door and he guessed that somewhere outside more awaited their egress from his apartment. He felt something brush his left arm and looked down. The soldier to his left had attached a small personal shield generator to his shirt sleeve and switched it on. Kirk's skin tingled for a moment as the shield adjusted itself to his body mass, and then they were moving.

The shuttle that waited for him and his escorts on the roof of his building was unlike any Kirk had ever seen. Not as sleek as the shuttles on the _Enterprise_, but definitely more formidable. This one seemed more bulky, and Kirk's experienced eye could pick out a large number of weapons nodes, an oversized shield generator, and several other nasty little features that served to give the craft a decidedly menacing air. _They mean business. _ A full squad of the spec ops personnel were arrayed in a perimeter defense pattern around the shuttlecraft, and if He looked hard enough, he was sure there were snipers and attack drones concealed on the roof tops of the surrounding buildings. _Wonder why I'm not simply beaming over? _He thought. And then his tactician's mind kicked in and he understood the admiral's decision to use the shuttlecraft. _That's exactly what "they" would expect me to do. Harder to track an individual shuttle in the heavy traffic around Fleet Headquarters, much less assault it and a transporter beam could always be pirated. He could end up who knows where._ He hurried up the gangway and strapped himself into one of the low slung padded benches that lined either side of the shuttle craft; the squad of soldiers had already broken formation and were hurrying aboard as well. The shuttle lifted off and accelerated under power even before the ramp was closed. He barely had time to get comfortable before he felt the shuttle decelerate and begin landing maneuvers. The squad was already standing, weapons at the ready, as the ramp began to descend. The officer barked orders, his voice muffled by his helmet and the soldiers fanned out, taking up defensive positions, while two others flanked him, the officer spoke without looking at him, "This way please sir."

With that, they hustled down the gangway into the cavernous bay area, which was still deserted at this early hour, only a few personnel at their stations, gawking at the squad and their charge as they headed for the turbo lifts across the way. The two soldiers escorting him hustled him into the turbo lift car and the others remained outside, covering them. Then the doors swished shut and they were moving downward at blazing speed. Kirk stood still between the men, trying to make sense out of what was going on. The main command bunker was underground, contrary to popular belief. Five hundred meters below ground. Komack was taking no chances. The bunker was the most secure facility on Earth, maybe even in the entire quadrant, and apparently that was to be their destination. The lift halted, but the doors did not open. The soldier to his left spoke briefly into his wrist com and then moved in front of Kirk, weapon raised. Only then did the doors open and they trooped out. They stood in the reception area, a large open room with a vaulted ceiling and stone floor. A massive Starfleet emblem had been worked into the material of the floor, several potted plants from diverse worlds had been placed here and there in an attempt to dispel the feeling of standing in a large man made cave. A long, polished wooden reception desk ran along the far wall, but the work stations were empty. _I wonder how many people he rescheduled and reassigned for our little operation?_ Kirk thought as the men hustled him toward a door to the right of the desk which led to a short corridor reminiscent of a starship's corridor design and Kirk felt a sudden intense desire to be back aboard the _Enterprise_ with all this mess behind him. They travelled a short distance, and the officer in front of him stopped at a small, non-descript door set unobtrusively into the wall on their right. He pressed a series of concealed buttons and the door opened inward instead of sliding to the side, and Kirk realized that it was an old fashioned hinged door, with a manual locking mechanism. _Hard to override one of those_. He thought and chuckled to himself. Then he was through the doorway, alone suddenly as his escort remained outside, presumably to guard the door. The room was brightly lit and it took Kirk's eyes a moment to adjust. Admiral Komack sat at a large desk across the room, regarding him with a look of relief. "About time you got here Jim." He said and stood up, walking around the desk and extending his hand. Kirk shook hands and glanced around the room. "I was a little detained admiral. Spec op soldiers and all dragging me all over the city." Komack smiled briefly. "I understand your consternation Jim but we couldn't take any chances. The threat is very real." He moved back to the desk and activated the viewer, gesturing for Kirk to sit down. The captain deactivated the shield generator and seated himself in the chair across from the admiral. Komack angled the viewer so that Kirk was able to see the screen. A series of still photographs and columns of script were displayed, each giving a general description of the person pictured. Several of the people were unfamiliar to Kirk, but he was very familiar with the stern looking Vulcan man in the picture at the bottom right of the screen. Sarek of Vulcan, Spock's father.

Komack gave him a moment to study the pictures before speaking. "What you are looking at Jim is what was once known as a 'hit list'. We believe those pictured here are targets marked for death, yourself included."

"By whom, admiral?" Kirk asked, sitting back and crossing his legs. Komack frowned. "We don't know Jim. Klingons? Romulans? Any number of those you've come into contact over the years, some of which you have managed to quite thoroughly piss off? If it were simply you who had been targeted, that would have narrowed the list a bit, but we have a Vulcan diplomat, and a few others in the mix that just don't seem to add up." He shook his head and stood up, moving to the mini bar across the room. "A drink captain?"

"little early for that isn't it admiral?"

Komack smiled, "Not if you haven't been to bed yet." He poured a small amount of bourbon into a coffee cup and returned to his chair. "We have made…inquiries through various sources on and off world over the past week or so. The list you see here was given to us by a less than reputable Tellarite smuggler who claims to have been approached by an individual looking to book passage from Vulcan to Earth last week. Apparently they hit a bit of a snag going through customs and the passenger left his bags behind. Being the good Samaritan that he was, the smuggler turned it in to the customs agents and the list, along with a few odds and ends, were found inside." Komack reached into a drawer on the right side of the desk and pulled out a black cloth bag with a simple drawstring at the top. He loosened the string and spilled the contents out on the desk top. There wasn't much to see. A small metallic tube about the size of Kirk's little finger, a small vial that contained several objects that looked at first glance like rigid strands of hair, a couple of odd looking metal disks with serrated edges, and a small, black stone dagger with some sort of antler or bone for the handle. It was the dagger that caught Kirk's attention. The stone blade was of the volcanic sort, probably some kind of obsidian, the edge serrated and no doubt very sharp, but it was the stone itself, black with crimson steaks embedded in it that really caught his eye. He had seen stone like this somewhere before…_but where?_ He glanced at Komack, "May I?" he asked, indicating the dagger. "Absolutely."

Kirk reached across the desk and snagged a stylus out of the container near the view screen and used it to drag the dagger across the desk toward him. Years of experience had taught him to never blindly grab anything of alien origin. "Have you identified these things yet?" he asked as he gently rotated the dagger on its axis, studying it as closely as possible with the naked eye.

"Not yet, Although the stone and metals used in the dagger and the disks are of Vulcan origin."

Kirk glanced up quickly at that. "Vulcan? These things are Vulcan?" Kirk had had a bit of experience with Vulcan weapons in the past, some of them not too pleasant, but he was most familiar with the _lirpa _and the_ ahn woon_, having wielded both_ quite pitifully I might add…_but the dagger was completely unfamiliar to him, as was the metal disks. "Yes, geologic and metallurgic analysis confirm that they are indeed of Vulcan origin. And quite old. Many centuries in fact."

"Hmm." Kirk continued his inspection of the dagger, still using the stylus. The handle of the knife was curved, about the thickness of his two fingers pressed together, and made from bone or antler. He couldn't help but marvel at the craftsmanship that had gone into making such a weapon. When this was over perhaps he could convince the admiral to part with it. A small hand or finger guard was affixed at the blade end of the handle, and upon closer inspection, revealed a small stud placed so that the forefinger of whomever was holding it would come into contact with it. Kirk fiddled with it, awkwardly using the stylus in an attempt to push the button. "Careful Jim, that button apparently activates a sort of security system. One of our lab techs was seriously injured when he picked the dagger up. There is a sort of spring loaded mechanism that is released when you push the button. A small needle-like thing flicks out. The end is poisoned with what study has shown to be a deadly poison. A poison also of Vulcan origin. It comes from a nasty critter called a _le matya_." Kirk finally managed to push the button with the end of the stylus, and as the admiral had said, a needle-like object flicked out with enough force to bury itself in the hand of whomever it was that was gripping the dagger. Kirk placed the stylus on the desktop and turned his attention to the metal disks. They were reminiscent of an ancient weapon used by the _ninja_, an ancient sect of assassins from feudal Japan, a small island nation in Earth's past. Kirk had seen a few in the Smithsonian Museum of World History as a child. No doubt the edges of the disks were poisoned as well. It was the small cylindrical object that he could not place. Using the stylus once more, he poked the end of the instrument into one end of the tube and examined it more closely. It was simply a hollow tube, and he wondered what its purpose could be. He placed it carefully next to the dagger. And moved to the final object Komack had spilled onto the desk top. A small, gray metallic vial with what appeared to be a simple threaded cap screwed onto one end. "What's in this?" he asked, looking at the admiral, eyebrows raised. "From our scans it appears to contain quite a number of fibers, almost hair-like in appearance. We studied a few of them. They seem to have the ability to change at a molecular level. Shifting in color and overall thickness. From course to fine, a whole spectrum of coloration. When removed, they become rigid, but if they remain still for a while, they become softer, more pliable, a lot like hair. Some even took on the characteristics of fur when handled by different members of the research team." Kirk gingerly unscrewed the cap and dumped its contents onto the desktop. The admiral's description had been accurate. The small fibers lay on the desk, seeming to shift and shimmer slightly in the bright lights of the office. As Kirk watched several of them began to change in color and texture to match the color of the wooden desk top. Whatever technology had created them seemed to have trouble matching the texture though, and several of them simply returned to their original state while others began to curl and twist. One he noted though, seemed to match his own hair color perfectly. "Fascinating." He said, and then realized who he sounded like. _Spock, I wish you were here right now. Maybe you could make sense of this._ He reached out to pick one of the fibers up. "Careful Jim," Komack cautioned, " those are just as nasty as the dagger. They're full of poison too. We just can't seem to determine their use." The com panel beeped and Komack answered. A female voice on the other end spoke briefly, "Admiral, your other appointment has arrived." Komack nodded, "Send him in please."

"Perhaps our visitor can help shed some light on this." He pressed a button on the desk and the door open to admit the tall, austere figure of ambassador Sarek, the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, and Spock's father.


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thanks everyone for your reviews. I'm striving for accuracy in the timeline, I'm happy that you readers are recognizing it. Here's chapter 3. **

Gath stood before the Council of Three, his traveling cloak having been discarded, along with his pack, in favor of clothing more suitable for such a meeting. He wondered why he had been called before the council. Such summons were rare and usually reserved for those who had failed in some way. Gath never failed. Thus he had never been summoned. He stood easily, everything about him exuding confidence, yet relaxation, however his mind was gently probing the men next to him, and at times, even brushing those of the Council. His long black hair was secured at his neck with a small clasp and long hair pin. His weapons had been left outside. No one, not even the most trusted of the Clan were allowed to enter the Chamber armed. Before him, on the dais, the Council conferred among themselves, in whispers and thoughts, they discussed whatever reason they had called him into their presence. Gath didn't care in the least. Such ritual and tradition held little meaning for him, though he was of course well versed in them all. He lived for the kill, the rush he felt in both body and mind when his target cried out in death. The general though had done neither, owing to the necessity of a swift and silent dispatch; one made to appear as if Voltag had simply died in his sleep or suffered some malady. Gath had returned to the Sanctum feeling empty, cheated of the most precious part of the kill, the moment when the target knew they could not escape, the brief moments of terror and despair before he struck were like a drug to him. Tonight, however, there had been none of that. Gath wondered idly if the general would have been terrified of his impending death, or if he would have welcomed it. He had brushed against the old warrior's mind briefly, before killing him. There had indeed been despair, but not at the loss of his life, rather despair over a life he believed to have been wasted. Gath cast these thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the Council. They had left off conferring and all three were now regarding him as if he were an object of great interest. He reached out surreptitiously with his mind and encountered a brick wall.

_"Don't." _ a voice in his head said quietly. In front of him the Master was staring at him intently. It was his voice Gath had heard in his head. Gath smiled slightly and dipped his head in a mock bow. The Master regarded him coldly for a moment and then spoke, "Gath, son of Geth, you are the most powerful of your peers, yet also the most reckless. Your actions in the past, while noteworthy, have given us cause to consider the possibility that you no longer have the interests of the Clan at heart. The case in point is this most recent contract in which you dispatched General Voltag. There was no room for uncertainty when this Council declined the contract. Much time was spent studying the possible effects the death of such a one would have on Vulcan as a whole. On the political climate, as well as the stability of the governing clans. It was decided by minds much wiser than your own that Voltag was of greater value if he lived. All that would be gained by his death was prolonged conflict. Vulcan cannot afford prolonged conflict." The Master stood as did the rest of the Council. "Your actions have left a vacuum Gath, and nature abhors a vacuum. Anarchy will fill it. Therefore, Gath, son of Geth, it is the judgment of this council that you are guilty of breaking the Law of the Sanctum. Your punishment is death, to be carried out immediately."

Gath had stood silently throughout the Master's pronouncement. Even now he did not speak. Instead, he released the Beast. The guards, who had started toward him, suddenly shrieked and fell to the floor, clawing at their eyes, as the Beast inside of Geth, his highly trained mind, was set loose upon them. Next came the two other members of the Council. Gath would save the master for last. He smirked at the title. There was only one master here and it was Gath, son of Geth. The two council members fell as well, clutching their temples as the unbridled rage of Gath's mind invaded their own. Mental shielding was of no use against such an onslaught. Gath had trained his mind day and night for as long as he could remember, while these men had grown soft. Soon, the shrieks of agony died as the Beast devoured the _katra_ of every living man in the room. Save for Gath and the Master. The older man stood in shock, his peers lying dead all around him, their faces frozen in a rictus of agony. Gath slowly reigned in the fury of his mind, bringing the raging fire under control once more. "You, who are less than I would be my judge?" he said, walking slowly toward the Master. "You, who are as the dust before me would seek to take my life?" His words were harsh, but laced with hurt. The Master was as a father to him. It was the Master that had recognized Gath's abilities, had taken him from his home to begin his training, nurturing him as he had grown into the man he was now. But now his father had betrayed him. "You are not fit to judge one such as I." He stopped at the base of the dais, glaring at the older man before him, feeling the rage of the Beast within him, feeding it, strengthening it. Releasing it.


	5. Chapter 4

**Here's the latest chapter, folks. Trying to clear up some of the questions you all had in the reviews. Enjoy!**

Kirk and the admiral rose and greeted Sarek formally, hands raised in the Vulcan salute, which Sarek returned with the same formality. "Admiral Komack, Captain Kirk, it is agreeable to see the two of you again." He approached the desk with the quiet dignity of royalty, and seated himself in the chair next to Kirk. Kirk and the admiral seated themselves as well. Komack spoke first. "I am truly sorry Ambassador for the rather unorthodox manner in which you were brought here. But I assure you sir, that it was absolutely necessary."_ So they had Shanghaied Sarek as well. Bet that was interesting._ Kirk thought, smiling inwardly. Komack had guts; Kirk had to give him that.

"Your apology is unnecessary admiral. I have served in my present capacity long enough to understand that at times, one must abandon the normal avenues of bureaucracy in favor of haste. I believe that this is one such occasion?"

"Indeed sir." Komack said, nodding at Kirk. "Captain Kirk and I have spent the last hour discussing a dangerous situation that has recently developed." He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Starfleet has reason to believe that you, captain Kirk, and a few others have been targeted for assassination." Komack waved a hand at the objects of mayhem spread out on the desk top. Sarek shifted his gaze to the objects, and Kirk would have sworn that the ambassador's breath caught in his throat. Although there was no outward sign of emotion on Sarek's face, he had served with a Vulcan long enough to notice even the smallest shift in the iron-clad mask of Vulcan calm. Sarek's right eyebrow rose infitesmally, his mouth tightening slightly at the corners, giving his face an even more severe look. But as swiftly as it had come, all signs of consternation vanished, and Kirk could see the Vulcan calm descend like a shroud, wrapping the ambassador's face once more in serenity. "May I ask as to where you procured these things?" Sarek asked, his voice betraying nothing. As Komack recounted the events of the past few days, Kirk idly studied the objects on his desk once more. The hair-like fibers had returned to their normal state, and he used the stylus to push them around on the desk top.

"I see," Sarek said, snapping Kirk out of his reverie. "Are there any theories as to who has placed this…bounty on our heads?" Komack shook his head. "I'm afraid not. We are investigating the matter, of course, but as of this morning there are no new leads." Sarek sighed almost imperceptibly, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers. "Perhaps I can lend a modicum of insight regarding the objects on your desk, at least. These weapons, gentlemen, are of Vulcan origin. They come from the time before The Awakening, before Surak was able to convince my people that logic is the path to enlightenment. As I am sure both of you are aware; Vulcan's past is filled with violence and bloodshed. Anarchy. In that time, the Clan Wars raged across the entire planet, with rival factions struggling for control of even a small part of our world." He paused; seeming to reflect for a moment, choosing his words carefully in what Kirk assumed was an attempt to speak in the most concise manner possible, as well as to gather his thoughts. "During this time, there was a clan of assassins; The Clan of Kan'woon, or The Clan of the Dagger. They were a group of Vulcans whose mental abilities far outstripped those of their peers. There is not a great deal known about them, as many records of the day were lost to the passage of the ages. However, I believe some relics and documents still survive on Vulcan at the academy. I am most troubled by these things gentlemen. For these weapons even to exist today is disturbing." He broke off and regarded Komack and Kirk with hooded eyes. "And if these weapons exist, so must the assassin. These were not mere murderers gentlemen. They were men highly skilled in the Vulcan martial arts. These objects you see here," he waved a hand at the various objects Kirk had strewn across Komack's desk, "were not their only weapons. By far, their greatest weapons resided in their mind." He stood and paced to the mini bar, and back, his brow slightly furrowed, his eyes distant. _As if he's remembering the past rather than relating it. _Kirk thought. "There are tales, legends if you will, of those who could kill with their minds, literally ripping the _katra_, the very essence of the victim from them, by simply willing it." He stopped next to the desk and regarded Kirk and the admiral. "A most gruesome death to be sure." He seated himself once more and regarded the admiral emotionlessly. _He might as well have been discussing the current weather forecast. _Kirk thought. He had always admired the Vulcan ability to suppress emotion. It would be an invaluable trait in battle, diplomacy or just about any other situation one might find oneself in. He studied the Vulcan ambassador unobtrusively, amazed at how calmly the man had received news of his life being threatened. Of course, he himself had not suffered an aneurism when Komack had told him about it either. He wondered what McCoy would do when he found out. He highly doubted the doctor would receive the news in Vulcan fashion. He smiled inwardly once more. _Ahh Bones do I have a story to tell you…_ Sarek was speaking again and Jim turned his attention back to the ambassador. "The Vulcan government of course would not allow such barbaric orders to exist today, so they are either extremely well hidden or residing somewhere off world. I would tend to suspect the latter in that all of Vulcan has been explored and catalogued. I will make some discreet inquiries gentlemen, and I suggest you do the same. Such abominable sects like the Clan of the Dagger cannot be allowed to continue in this age." He paused for a moment, as if mindful of the effect his speech was having on his audience. "You must understand gentlemen; these assassin clans hold a place in Vulcan history comparable to Khan Noonien Singh or Adolph Hitler in your own. They were and apparently are, savage killers. There is no place for them in our society, nor in any other."

"I fully agree ambassador," Komack said, standing and glancing at his wrist chrono. "We have much to do gentlemen, and very little time in which to do it." He turned to Kirk, "Jim, I want you to remain in this complex. You can of course, utilize whatever means necessary to aid in the investigation, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to return to the _Enterprise._" He held up his hand to forestall the protest he saw forming on Kirk's lips. "I will however allow you to bring any assets or personnel you deem necessary down here, provided of course they can pass the security procedures." _Finally! _Kirk thought. "Thank you sir, I already have some 'assets' in mind." Komack smiled, "I suspected as much."

Spock sat at the table in the briefing room, McCoy sat next to him, sipping a cup of coffee and listening to Anitra Lanter as she summarized what she had been able to discover concerning the events of the past few days which added up to very little. "Apparently Captain Kirk was seen this morning at Fleet Headquarters in the company of Starfleet Spec Ops personnel. They entered the lift, went down, and have yet to come up." She looked at Spock and McCoy apologetically, "I know it isn't much fellas but it's the best I could do."

"Your efforts have not been entirely in vain Doctor. We now know that Jim is indeed planet side, and apparently he is unharmed. His presence at Headquarters suggests that the circumstances of his departure are indeed sanctioned by Command, and we can therefore infer that he is in no immediate danger." He turned to McCoy, "perhaps this has been nothing more than a high level briefing, one that is of such a sensitive nature that it had to be performed in person rather than by secure channel."

"And maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt," McCoy spat. "Something's up Spock and I don't like it. What could be so important that Komack would all but abduct Jim from the _Enterprise?_" His voice rose slightly as he got kicked off, "and what's with all the cloak and dagger spec ops people running around as if we were in danger of being invaded? No, something's is going on and I intend to find out what it is..." He trailed off as the com beeped, "Mr. Spock, Doctor, incoming message from Fleet," Uhura said, "and it's the captain."

"Patch it through Lieutenant," Spock said, turning to McCoy. "It appears Doctor, that at least some of our concerns are about to be addressed." On the viewer, the screen split, Anitra's face on the right, Kirk on the left. "Spock, Bones, report." He said shortly. McCoy glanced at Spock, rather surprised at Kirk's terse command, and then realized Kirk probably wasn't alone. _Of course he's not. Probably surrounded by brass, so he can't speak freely. "_All systems normal captain. The ship is at station keeping, holding position at the same coordinates as when you disembarked. Nothing to report."

Kirk's image on the viewer nodded. "Very well. Mr. Spock, Doctor, a situation has arisen that requires your presence. I am sending you the coordinates now. Please join me at once. Kirk out." The captain's face faded from the screen and Anitra's returned to full screen. McCoy noted that she had not spoken throughout the brief exchange. "Well, Spock, Len, seems like you are about to get all the answers you wanted." She thrust out her bottom lip in a mock pout, "guess you won't be needing little ol' me anymore." She flashed a smile and was reaching out to break the connection when Spock spoke. "On the contrary, doctor Lanter, you may still be of service in this matter. If I recall correctly, you are a very powerful telepath. It might be beneficial if you were to accompany us as an advisor on our visit to Fleet headquarters."

"Why Spock, are you asking me to spy on Starfleet?" she asked in mock horror.

"Not at all doctor, I merely…" he broke off as Anitra interrupted him. "Because if you are, I'm all for it!" she said, and laughed. A tinkling sound McCoy remembered from the few moments they had shared months ago in the brief interludes between fighting and running for their lives. He found suddenly that he missed her. Very much. Their time together had been short. The mission harrowing. The short romance had gone into limbo when Anitra had transferred off the _Enterprise _following the incident on Vulcan that had left so many dead. On the planet, on the ship, as well as the multiple worlds that the demon-like beings had spread to. Even after the cure had been found, containment and cleanup had been a nightmare. All of them had come away from the ordeal scarred, and Spock had lost a family member. He and Anitra had spent her last night aboard the _Enterprise _together. Neither one of them had harbored any illusions about the future. Both of them had careers and interests of their own. Still, he had not thought it possible to feel so strongly for someone he had known for only a few days. _Of course, her feelings may have changed by now. We've talked a few times, but lately not as often as before. She has her own career, I have mine. Is there any room for a relationship in there somewhere?_ He suddenly had the distinct impression that someone had spoken to him. He came back from his wool gathering. "Huh?"

Spock regarded him, a slightly bemused expression on his face. "I said, time is of the essence doctor, perhaps we should get to the transporter room." McCoy blushed a little and stood up. "Sorry, Spock, my mind was somewhere else."

Ensign Vanesha Graves entered the bar in a rush, surrounded by her friends and a few others she was not really acquainted with. She was a member of the first group to be beamed down from the _Enterprise_ for shore leave, and she was determined to enjoy herself. After only a few months aboard ship, she was already on the verge of mental exhaustion. Before being ordered to Earth, the _Enterprise _ had been monitoring and studying the ion storm tearing its way through the Rigel system, and her section had spent endless hours studying the shifting patterns in the storm front. While she truly loved her work, and was more than a little honored to be serving on the flagship of the fleet, she had her limits, both physical and mental. _I need a break!_ She broke from the group and headed for the bar, plopping herself down next to a morose young woman with long black hair that hung down around her face. "This seat taken?" she asked. The young woman barely seemed to notice her and didn't answer. Taking that as a no, Vanesha (Van to her friends) dismissed her and looked intently at the menu fastened to the wall above the shelf holding the various spirits behind the bar. A dazzling variety of drink options presented themselves to her, both Terran and off world. _What on earth is a Ferengi Firewhip?_ She wondered idly. _Might as well give it a shot._ "Hey Van," her friend Gerald called from across the noisy room, "you abandon us or what?" he stood up and made his way to the bar, sidestepping the bustling waitress and weaving in and out of the cross traffic until he reached her side. "Nope," she said and giggled, "I've always wanted to 'belly up to the bar' as the saying goes. There are no bars to 'belly up to' on the _Enterprise_." She said, and giggled. Gerald rolled his eyes and smiled. "Well when you're done, come join us at the table. We've only got a twelve hour pass so I want to make the most of it." Vanesha stuck out her tongue and waved for the bartender. Next to her, she noticed that the morose young woman was staring at her. "I'm sorry for being rude earlier," she said in a low, melodious voice, "but did you say you were from the _Enterprise?"_

Kirk stood in front of the transporter platform and watched as the familiar whine began to build and the forms of his friends began to coalesce on the platform. In milliseconds they had taken on solidity and a breath later Spock and McCoy stood on the pad. Kirk smiled, "about time you fellows showed up." He said jovially, but inside he felt as if a great weight had been lifted off him. McCoy scowled and spoke loudly enough for Komack to hear, who stood next to the transporter chief at the console. "We _would _have been here all along if we had been allowed to." Kirk shot him a look and he subsided. "Be nice bones." He admonished. Spock had yet to say anything, and Kirk knew he was already analyzing what he knew of the situation. "If you gentlemen will step this way," Komack called, "we will brief you on what we know." They followed the admiral out. Outside the door, the spec ops team waited, falling into step and surreptitiously surrounded the group. McCoy's eyes widened at the show of force and he lost some of his resentment for the way Komack had treated them. _Something is most definitely up. Hurry Anitra!_

"I understand that Dr. Lanter will also be joining us?" Komack was saying to Spock as they neared the turbolift. "Affirmative Admiral. It is the opinion of the captain and myself that she may prove invaluable to our investigation." Spock said. "Humph. If you gentlemen only knew the amount of paperwork involved in bringing her here without rousing suspicion…reactivation of her commission, new orders had to be cut…quite the endeavor. However, if the two of you deem her presence necessary, I will not argue." He stopped suddenly, causing what was now a fairly large group of people to stumble to a halt. Spock alone was able to stop in time to keep from colliding with the admiral. "But this is all gentlemen. I will not put our mission at risk by dragging any more people into it. The smaller the number, the easier it will be to maintain secrecy." The admiral's bulldog face was dead serious, his gray eyebrows lowered. He had once commanded a starship, and he was in full command mode now. "Yes sir." They chorused and Komack nodded, satisfied. He resumed his trek to the lift, waiting for rest of the group to jam themselves in around him. Two of the troopers remained outside, taking up positions on either side of the lift. The doors snapped shut and they were moving downward, back into the protection of the underground bunker. On the way, Kirk and Komack began the briefing. Falling silent only when the lift deposited them at the reception area. Kirk noticed that now a pretty young petty officer was seated behind the desk and another young man wearing the rank of ensign worked at a station behind her. Neither so much as glanced at them as they walked the short distance to the door Kirk had used earlier. _Well trained_. McCoy thought. _Not their business, never happened._ They continued on to Komack's office. Only when the door was securely shut behind them, sentries in place, did they resume.

Before long, Spock and the doctor were up to speed. Spock sat at the desk, carefully examining the artifacts that still lay there. McCoy stood behind him, peering over his shoulder, a look of distaste marring his craggy face. "These are the weapons of an assassin huh?" he said, reaching over Spock's shoulder to poke at the hair-like fibers with a stylus. "Indeed doctor, they would appear to be likened to those used by assassins who plied their trade on Vulcan prior to the Awakening." Spock said, picking up the dagger by the blade end and turning it this way and that, the crimson streaks buried in the obsidian of the blade catching the light and sparkling like sapphires. "It's beautiful." McCoy breathed, spell bound by simple beauty of the knife. "Indeed, Doctor, beautiful and quite deadly."

The com beeped and Komack answered, listened briefly and said "Send him in." He fingered the door button and it clicked open. Sarek strode purposefully in, stopping when he saw the new comers and inclining his head briefly before speaking. "Admiral, I have been in contact with the Archives on Vulcan. I have managed to obtain permission to peruse the records housed there." He paused, "However, the documents are not backed up electronically, and are of such age as to forbid scanning. The only way we will be able to examine them is at the Archives on Vulcan."

Komack swore. "We don't have time for this." He grumbled. "It is not as if we want to fondle them to satisfy mere curiosity…" He broke off, noticing that everyone in the room was staring at him. He moved to the mini bar and fumbled for a glass. "Forgive me gentlemen, but I fear that lack of sleep has damaged my diplomacy."

"Understandable, admiral." McCoy said, "I brought my med kit. Would you like me to give you something for fatigue, or maybe something to ease your tension?" Komack shook his head, "Perhaps later doctor." He said brusquely. "Sarek," he said, "You are quite certain there is no other way for us to examine those documents?"

Sarek did not allow himself to be insulted by the implication of error on his part. He simply nodded, "Quite sure admiral, regrettably there is no other way."

Komack sighed and swiped a hand across his face. "Very well. I can have a ship ready in a couple of hours…" he broke off at the look on Kirk's face. " Dammit Jim, I can read you like a book. I suppose you're wanting to take the _Enterprise_." It was not a question.

Kirk smiled sheepishly. "As a matter of fact sir, yes I would. I have perfectly good security teams on board, and I trust them. I see no reason to re-task another starship. This little covert operation of ours has undoubtedly thrown half of Command into a tizzy." He said this deliberately, playing on Komack's sense of responsibility, feeling only a twinge of guilt. _But dammit, my own people can be trusted. I don't need these storm troopers following me around all the time._ Komack nodded, "bad as I hate to admit it Jim, you're right. And I believe I have come up with the perfect cover story. The official order will be that you are carrying ambassador Sarek back to Vulcan for some pressing personal business." He turned to Sarek, "That is of course, if you agree Ambassador."

"While I resist the need for duplicity, admiral, logic dictates that we must do whatever is necessary to curb this assassin without needless loss of life."

Komack nodded and addressed the others. "Well, it appears to be settled then. Captain, notify your ship." He seemed to remember something. "Uh, Jim, I granted shore leave for your crew, I was unaware that events would progress in this manner." Kirk nodded. "How about I simply recall all essential personnel and extend leave for the non-essentials?" he said, glancing at Spock and McCoy.

"That would seem the logical course captain," McCoy was nodding his head as well. "Give 'em a little more time off Jim, not to mention, the fewer people involved with this, the better."

"Sounds good." Kirk turned to Sarek, "Are there any particular preparations you need to make Sir, before we depart?" Sarek shook his head. "I need simply to notify my staff of my departure…" Komack looked as if he was about to say something, but the Vulcan held up his hand, cutting him off. "I am mindful of your security concerns, admiral; I assure you I will be suitably vague."

Komack grunted, appeased.

"Sure did." Vanesha said, looking at the young woman seated next to her. She was attractive, with long, dark hair, wide expressive eyes and fine eyebrows. She was dressed in a simple silver dress and boots. She wore no makeup, but Vanesha could see where males would find her attractive just the same. "We're here on leave. Twelve whole hours!" she said with more than a little sarcasm. The bartender plunked her drink down in front of her and she turned away for a moment to regard the small glass of what looked like lava and a strange looking fruit that adorned the rim. "Sure you can handle that missy?" he asked, a small smile on his lips. Vanesha giggled and grabbed the drink, spilling a little in her haste to bring the glass to her lips. "We'll see my good man, we'll see." She gulped half the drink all at once and began to cough as what felt like liquid fire blazed a trail toward her stomach. The bartender guffawed and turned away, as Vanesha continued to cough and sputter. The woman next to her was looking concerned. She placed her hand on Vanesha's, where she was clinging to the bar as if for dear life. "I..I'm fine…just a little more kick than I expected." Van finally managed to croak. Her head was already spinning and her vision blurry. The woman smiled sympathetically. Vanesha managed a weak smile of her own, and noticed the woman's striking eyes. Almond shaped, wide and expressive. And deep. Eyes some would say you could lose yourself in. The woman was saying something, but it was so soft that she couldn't make it out. _My mind to your…._Vanesha suddenly felt much better. Her mind cleared and she could focus once more. There was a slight buzzing sound in her head, but other than that, she felt almost normal. Next to her, the strange woman had slumped a little, her head resting on her folded hands atop the bar. Vanesha shrugged, _must've had a little too much. Too bad she had been so rude earlier, wouldn't even speak to me. We could've had a good time…._She became aware of someone standing at her right elbow, and got the impression that whoever it was had asked her a question. "I'm sorry?" she said, turning to the man next to her. "Geez Van, you look like you already got a snoot full. I said, c'mon, let's go somewhere and get something to eat." _Gerald,_ her mind supplied. She smiled brightly, "sure!" She grabbed the lava-like drink and downed it in one gulp. "Let's go!"

The com chimed and Komack answered it, the voice on the other end spoke briefly and he broke the connection. "Jim, it would seem another of your 'assets' has arrived. As if on cue, the door opened and Anitra Lanter strolled in. McCoy caught his breath; she was as striking as ever. Her impish face framed by the fiery red hair was glowing with the vitality of youth, and her figure of course was just as ravishing as it had been. She caught him staring at her and smiled radiantly. McCoy found himself blushing, and stood with the rest of them to offer his hand in greeting. Anitra shook hands with the others, murmuring greetings to each of them, but when she came to the doctor she pushed his hand aside and embraced him, not seeming to care who was watching. "It is so good to see you again Len." She said and kissed his cheek. Stepping back, she looked into his eyes for a moment, and then realized the acute embarrassment she saw there. She smiled widely and winked. "Sorry doc got a little carried away." She stepped back and her face changed from imp to Starfleet officer once more. "So gentlemen, care to tell me what's up?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's the latest chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Don't for get to review! **

Gath stumbled to the great doors of the council chambers, stopping briefly to lean heavily on the doorpost. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. For a moment, his vision threatened to black out, and he felt nausea rising in his stomach. He forced it back down and took a deep breath. Behind him, the carnage was appalling. Dead men lay everywhere, frozen in differing poses of agonized death. On the dais, the council members, once leaders of the most feared group of assassins on Vulcan, lay dead, now no more than broken bodies. He used his last remaining strength to shove the heavy door open and staggered out into the corridor, using his right hand against the wall to steady himself as he lurched toward the mouth of the giant cave in which the council chambers was secreted. Images, flashes of memory invaded his mind, forcing him to use his dwindling reserves of strength to force them away, trying to focus instead on simply being able to walk upright instead of crawling. Of all the dead men in the room behind him, only the master had proven a worthy adversary. Gath's mind still reeled from the impact of the Master's psychic onslaught. He felt moisture trailing down his cheek and brushed it away, looking at his hand. _Why am I crying? _He thought, and whipped his hand downward, dashing the tears to the sand covered floor. A shudder wracked his frame and he stopped for a moment, attempting to gather himself. His legs began to shake and darkness shrouded his vision. Reality disappeared and he found himself falling into blackness…

Gath awoke slowly, swimming toward consciousness, fighting to breathe, like a man caught in a sandstorm. He struggled momentarily, thrashing in his semi- conscious state, until he felt strong hands grasping his shoulders, shaking him, a male voice telling him to wake up…He opened his eyes slowly, the lids sticking to his eyeballs, and tried to focus on the shadowy figure kneeling next to him. "Who are you?" he tried to demand but his voice emerged as barely a whisper. His mouth was dry as dust, and his head had begun to ache terribly. "I am V'eth, do you not recognize me?" came the reply, and the kneeling man put a hand under Gath's shoulders to help him sit up. He pressed a water skin to his cracked lips and Gath tried to sip slowly, remembering his training, but a raging thirst overcame him and he gulped the tepid water. "Slowly lord Gath," V'eth warned and pulled the skin away. "You will founder if you drink too quickly." Gath nodded stupidly and tried again as V'eth offered the water once more. He was more successful this time, and managed to force down the raging thirst long enough to sip. With the help of the water, Gath felt a little strength returning, and he spoke again, his voice still a whisper, but no longer a dry croak. "Where am I?" V'eth sat the water skin down and eased Gath back down onto his back on the bedroll. "We are north of the Sanctum, in a cave." He stood and turned away, moving to the small fire Gath had not noticed before, and began to feed dried _d'mallu _vines into the flames. He turned to Gath once more, his eyes hooded and a quizzical expression on his young face. "Perhaps you would like to explain to me why the council is dead, along with most of our clan, and we alone remain alive?" His gaze bored into Gath, and the other looked downward, his mind racing. There was danger here, and in his weakened condition, possibly death as well. While V'eth was young, he was still the most promising apprentice Gath had ever seen. Carefully he felt for his mental shields, found them weakened but still in place, and raised his eyes once more, meeting V'eth's gaze with an icy stare of his own. "It is simple apprentice. An enemy has done this. One of whom we were not aware, and a very formidable one at that." He shifted his aching body to a more comfortable position and sipped more water, gathering his thoughts. He could feel his strength returning, but too slowly. Guile nor weapons were not the tools he needed here. _Subtlety, yes, subtlety_. His mind whispered. _You are in no condition to fight this young one. Physically or mentally. _He reached out with his mind carefully, just touching the surface of V'eth's mind, searching the younger man's emotions. _There it is. Fear. And fear can always be exploited._ "V'eth, we must not tarry long in this place. Those responsible may still be about. Perhaps we should move on as soon as possible."

The younger man regarded him from beneath slanted eyebrows hooded with shadow. "But what of our clan?" He stood and moved to the mouth of the cave, his expression troubled. "Should we not seek them out and have our vengeance upon them? Is it not cowardice to run away and leave our brother's bodies unburied, as their murderers go free?"

Gath looked sternly at the youth and answered sharply, as he intended " Is this the way neophites are being taught today? I would never had questioned a master assassin when I stood where you stand! No, we are not slinking away from a fight, nor will our vengeance be denied. However, if our enemies are capable of killing so many of us in so short a time, perhaps prudence is our best option."

V'eth bridled for a moment under Gath's harsh words, his Vulcan blood rising, and then he slumped a little. Returning to the fire, he bowed his head, "Forgive me master, I allowed my need for revenge to cloud my judgement. You are of course correct." He cast a few more pieces of dried vine into the fire. "What then are we to do?"

Gath smiled and softened his tone a bit, "We shall wait, and strengthen ourselves. I am in no condition to do battle at present. Therefore we wait, and when the time is right, we will hunt them, find them, and destroy them."


End file.
